Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1887-03-10


depths Of q crystal lake.
"Others have written the epic Of battles.
Shirley he said; Slet your poem be the epic
Of peace and progress in history"
When she was IS she wrote some tinid
verses for his inspection. He gave them back
all marked and erased He had taken away
her finest words. her most sounding passages.
Shirley was intensely angry. She flung her.
self onher fathers breast in passion.
"He crosses out the best Of everything 1
write, she said. sits no use my trying. l
won't go to school any more.n
That evening the master came as usual to
the stone house. But the brightest, sweetest
face Of all was not there as usual to greet
him.
"Where's Shirley" asked he.
"You have broken her heart" said the
colonel. "You cut her poem all to pieces.5
A look of keen annoyance, of pain, crossed
the fine dark face.
@But could not help it," he said. "She
uses too meny words. Send her to me, will
you noti"
The colonel brought her, leading her by
the hand, her face averted.
"Here she is, Mr.. Morrison" !" said he "Take
her life, but spare her adjectives!"
He laughed and passed down the steps out
of sight. Shirley and the master were left
alone Shirley, strong fearless girl though
she was, trembled from head to foot. She
had never been afraid of anything, but here
was new timidity stealing up from her
heart and stopping her throat so she could
not speak, As for him it may be that he
trembled too. He opened his lips to speak,
Shirley" he said. But the words died. A
strange gleam passed over his face. His lips
quivered momentarily, but he suppressed some
kind of emotion, and said:
"You are my best pupil, Shirley; the one
l take most pride in. You are angry at
your teacher. What have done? Have l
not always been kind and gentle to yous"
Shirley found a voice, somehow though it
was voice with quaver in it.
eyes, you have, Mr. Morrison But will
never write anything again. Other girls
write poetry for the school exercises. They
take it out of books, and change it over so
nobody will know it. They hand it to you,
and you say it is nice write my verses out
Of my own head. They are my own. And
you mark them all over. have torn the
paper up I will never write any more.
Never" -
"Just because it was your own and l saw
rare promise in it, therefore took pains to
show you its faults. You use too much orna-
mentation. You initiate, without knowing
it, other poets you have read. You must learn
to be yourself. Como here, Shirley"
She obeyed, with downcast face.
| my dear pupil would rather go away
from Linwood altogether than to hurt you ore
offend you. But am your teacher. Don't
you think, child, I know better than you?'
"Oh, yes, Mr.. Morrison, know that. You
have taught me about more things than l
ever knew in the world. owe everything
to YOU"
| And you will trust me for the future. will
you not" he eaid.
! He put one strong hand softly against each
| pink cheek and lifted her fGce. He looked
down at her with his black-gray eyes, eyes so
like her own, and said:
"Dear girl, you do not know how much you
have been to me. hated mankind when
came here. There was not living creature
cared for, or who cared for me. You and
| your father showed me there was still truth
and honest feeling in tho world, bless your
sweet, sunny soul! When go away, what
ever trouble is still to come, shall know
have had some true friends, some hours that
were happy. You are the best, truest, bright
est creature | ever met Would | wound
| your tender soul by so much as a word, do
you think: You are the only one-Shirley,
you arc capable of great things If l can
judge of anything, the time will come when
all the world will praise you. You will write
your poem, and do your work-a work such
as no woman ever did before know that.
You will show oil men the sweet, deep, mar
velous strength that lies in q woman's brain.
believe in that, and believe in you. Your
verses will not be feeble and muddy and mar
row-the kind most women write. Yours
will be the grand, ringing lines of humanity
and free womanhood. Because know this,
let me give you such hints ss I may, child.
VIII you do this and forgive me?n
Her lips quivered, but she was always ready
to confess an error-the frank, true child.
She said:
"You are very, very good, Mr.. Morrison;
and l was wrong and foolish. will do my
best and never give you trouble again. For
give me, dear master" .-.
II will bring you q woman's poem and read
it to you tomorrow. Shirley" he said.
"Gather your little Carstones, and we shall
have picnic in the afternoon down under
the willows by the mill race. will read you
Aurora Leigh. Good night, child"
He laid his hand caressingly upon her head
and slid it down softly over one of the fair
braids. Did he press the long, fair braid to
his lips as he turned to goa Well who knows9
Shirley did not know.
1t was their last quarrel -
From that day new and tenderer tie
seemed to draw them together. The picnics,
as the children called them, lasted all through
the bright summer days. In the winter there
were picnics indoors The teacher had
seemed soured and reserved when he came to
Linwood He had bitter, sarcastic tongue
when disturbed, which had drawn on him ILL
will at first But that hal changed He had
become gentle and genial Ho established
literary society among the rustics, the first
one ever in the village. 1t was turning the
thoughts of the younger people in better
and higher direction.
He and Shirley read and studied history,
poetry and science. He taught her Greek
and Latin, prose ard poetry. The girl, like
himself, had the rare faculty Of grasping
Thought i'll a glance. A few words upon its
page would tell its whole story to her clear,
alert brain. They were days of perfect hap
piness and peace. But the girls thoughts
came back always to Joan of Arc, the Maid
of Domremy, the saint and martyr, with tho
iron helmet pressing upon her golden hair.
It was like the motive in work of music
She wrote little poems still, but now the
master criticised them no more Some had
been printed. They had been copied and re-
copied and went floating through the news |